Once upon a Spring morn

39

Bridge

Hard they rode, did the warband, long under the sun and stars. They took little rest, only that needed to spare the steeds. Even so, horses went lame, and gear was shifted, and men took to new mounts, abandoning those that could no longer run. And some four days after leaving Port Cient, the riders entered yet another forest, but this one had a windrow through it, and so the woodland did not slow the force as had the previous forest they encountered. They emerged at a run under the stars and hammered across fertile fields, though the crofts were abandoned, as were the steads thereon. In starlight they came unto a palisaded town: ’twas Le Bastion.

Guards aimed great ballistas laded with spears at the milling band, for the citizenry was sore afraid to let such a force within; after all, they could be raiders. Mayor Breton was called, and when he appeared on the wall above, Borel explained that it was Celeste and Roel and Avelaine and Laurent and Blaise they were out to save, and Breton ordered the gates flung wide.

They exchanged as many horses as they could with those from the town, and after but six hours respite, the warband galloped away.

“The Wolves are edgy,” said Borel, as up the narrow pathway they went along the wall of the gorge. “Horses, too. Something dire lies ahead, I ween.” Mist swirled and twined, and as they came to a flat, a stone bridge stood before them. And a huge armored man bearing a great sword and wearing a red surcoat stepped on the far end of the span, the whorls of white alternately revealing and concealing the knight.

And neither the horses nor the Wolves would set hoof or paw upon the stone of the bridge.

“We would pass!” called Borel.

The monstrous knight did not reply.

Donning his helm, Luc dismounted and took up his shield and sword, saying, “I will go parley with him.” With a bit of blood running from his left arm and his shield cloven in twain, Luc returned through the swirling fog and said, “We can go onward now.” And across the bridge they all went, the horses no longer skittish and shy, the Wolves padding forward without delay.

At the far end, the Red Knight’s empty helm sat on one of the pikes, but as to where his slain body had gone, none could say.

They came to the twilight border and passed on through to find themselves in a dank swamp, and slime floated on the water therein. And now no matter how hard they pressed, they could move no faster than a swift walk, and at times they moved much slower.

And there was but a single day remaining ere the dark of the moon.